


Quo Ante

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Descriptions of Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-27 16:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: “Where is she?” Olivia asked, confused.Carisi drained his coffee in one go. “In holding.”“Holding?” she repeated, incredulous. “Why the hell is our victim in holding?”“Funnily enough,” Carisi said, his tone indicating that there was absolutely nothing funny about the situation, “that’s the same exact question I asked the precinct captain when I got here, oh—” He checked his watch. “—four hours ago. And they only managed to give me a reason about fifteen minutes ago: she’s in holding until she can be arraigned.”Olivia stared at him. “Arraigned? What the hell is she being charged with?”“Grand larceny of a vehicle. And attempted murder.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This got long, so I decided to split it, with the second chapter to be posted tomorrow or Thursday.
> 
> Wanted to get this fic out of my system ahead of the season premiere. Will I be watching? Unlikely, for myriad reasons, though never say never. 
> 
> Intended to be written similar to an SVU episode, so slightly more disconnected than what I usually write. Title is a Latin expression meaning "As before", for reasons that will become clearer in chapter 2. 
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Hey, will you stop the car up here?”

The police officer driving the squad car threw a dirty look at his partner. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he complained, even as he steered the car towards the side of the street. “I swear to God, if you’re making me stop for a donut again—”

“I’m hungry!” his partner protested with a laugh. “C’mon, I’ll even spring for a coffee for you.”

“Y’know, it’s dicks like you who give the rest of us a bad name—”

The driver’s further complaints were cut off when a bright red Maserati bulleted through a red light at the intersection and smashed into a streetlight, hitting two parked cars along the way. “Holy shit,” the driver swore, flipping on the lights as his partner grabbed his radio.

“Dispatch, this is Unit 927, responding to a 10-53 — car crashed into a streetlight at 81st and Lexington,” he reported as the driver pulled up behind the car.

The radio crackled with static. “Roger,” the dispatcher said in a bored voice. “You need backup?”

Both officers exchanged glances, the driver rolling his eyes and shrugging exaggeratedly. “Might as well send a bus. Looks nasty.”

“Roger,” the dispatcher repeated, and both officers exited the squad car, both reaching for their sidearms as they did. 

“NYPD,” the driver called as he cautiously approached the front of the car. “Keep your hands where I can see—” He broke off when he saw the blonde-haired young woman slumped in the front seat, the blood pouring from the gash on her forehead not quite enough to hide the black eye she sported or the bruises around her neck. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he swore, holstering his weapon. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared unfocusedly at him and swallowed, hard, before whispering something he couldn’t hear. “What’d you say, ma’am?”

“Please,” she whispered, and he could see the blood that flecked her teeth. “Please — help me.”

“Ok, ma’am, I promise we’re gonna get you help,” he said. “Can you tell me your name?”

Her eyes closed again. “Please,” she breathed. “He tried to kill me.”

For the first time, the officer saw the blood that stained the dress she wore, blood that didn’t look like it was from the accident. “Jesus,” he said, grabbing his radio. “This is Unit 927, we need that bus  _ now _ . And better change that 10-53 to a 10-24.”

“A 10-24?” the dispatcher repeated, sounding confused.

“Yeah, 10-24,” the officer said, swallowing at the sight of the blood that had run down the young woman’s legs. “Looks like we got an assault.”

* * *

“Carisi,” Olivia said in greeting, handing her detective a cup of coffee before taking a sip of her own as she followed him into the local precinct. “Heard we got a rape victim?”

“Something like that,” Carisi told her darkly, exhaustion tightening his expression, and Olivia frowned as she glanced around.

“Where is she?” she asked, confused.

Carisi drained his coffee in one go. “In holding.”

“Holding?” Olivia repeated, incredulous. “Why the hell is our victim in holding?”

“Funnily enough,” Carisi said, his tone indicating that there was absolutely nothing funny about the situation, “that’s the same exact question I asked the precinct captain when I got here, oh—” He checked his watch. “—four hours ago. And they only managed to give me a reason about fifteen minutes ago: she’s in holding until she can be arraigned.”

Olivia stared at him. “Arraigned? What the hell is she being charged with?”

“Grand larceny of a vehicle. And attempted murder.”

* * *

“Captain, I don’t particularly care if the mayor himself called the precinct personally, that girl needs to go to a hospital—”

The precinct captain scowled at Olivia from where he sat behind his desk, his hands folded over his immense stomach. “That ‘girl’ has a prostitution charge on her record, and besides, she said she didn’t need to go to the hospital.”

Olivia leaned down, gripping the back of the chair across the desk with both of her hands, mainly to stop herself from throwing something. “That doesn’t change the fact that she’s clearly injured and covered in blood,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, and Carisi glanced sideways at her, clearly hearing the fury she was barely holding back. “She needs to go to a hospital.”

“Where they’ll destroy the physical evidence,” the captain said stubbornly. “She’s not going anywhere until CSU gets here to photograph her.”

“Any physical evidence will be preserved with the rape kit—” Carisi started, but Olivia cut him off, glaring at the captain with barely controlled disdain.

“That’s not the physical evidence he’s concerned about, is it, Captain?”

The captain leaned forward, his expression darkening. “Look,” he snapped, “she stole Brent Tabois’s Maserati. I’m assuming you know who that is?”

Carisi let out a light, humorless laugh. “Pretty sure I saw his name as a sponsor of the latest Police Benevolent Association fundraiser, yeah. Lucky for the PBA to have an investment banker who somehow avoided jail time on their side.”

“Exactly,” the captain said loudly. “He’s a friend of the PBA, and a big donor to the mayor and DA as well. And when the unis showed up at his house, they found him unconscious, bleeding from a head wound. Seems your so-called victim hit him over the head and then took off with his car and his wallet, and when she got caught, she made up some cockamamie story about him trying to kill her. Cops at the scene said it looked like she’d been drinking, too.”

Olivia ground her teeth together in frustration. “And don’t you think that a rape kit would help confirm Mr. Tabois’s story instead of leaving this as a he-said, she-said?”

The captain considered that for a moment before sitting back in his seat, nodding officiously. “You may have a point, Lieutenant. Fine, you can escort her to the hospital. But the cuffs stay on, understood?”

“Captain—”

“This is my precinct’s collar, and I’ll make the judgement call,” the captain told Olivia coldly. “Take it or she’s waiting for CSU.”

“Carisi, call for a bus.” Carisi jerked a nod, pulling out his cellphone and stepping out of the captain’s office, but Olivia stayed for a moment longer, glaring at the captain. “Protocol says to take someone with injuries to get cleared at the hospital. You deliberately broke protocol, and you better hope that girl doesn’t decide to sue.”

The captain had the audacity to smirk at her. “Good luck suing from Rikers.”

Olivia bit back her retort and instead left to find Carisi in hopes that they could get the poor woman to the hospital before it was too late to recover any possible evidence.

* * *

“Girl’s name is Francine Waters,” Carisi reported in an undertone outside the curtained-off corner of the emergency room. “24 years old, was busted once for possession of cocaine and once for prostitution. Got the drugs charges tossed and got probation for the prostitution. No other record, and for what it’s worth, no history of false police reports.”

“It’s worth a lot, Carisi, thanks,” Olivia said quietly, patting his arm gently. “Why don’t you go get a cup a coffee? You look wiped.”

“I look better than she does,” Carisi muttered, but when Olivia just gave him a look, he held his hands up in defeat and slumped off in the direction of the coffee machine.

Just in time, too, as the doctor slid open the curtain just far enough to let herself out. “Anything conclusive?” Olivia asked, recognizing the look on the doctor’s face far too well.

Sure enough, she shook her head. “If she was drinking or on drugs, chances are too much time has passed for them to show up in her blood, especially if she was given GHB or roofied. Lots of bruising, but it’ll be hard to tell what was caused by the accident and what was caused by the crash.”

“Last I checked, a car crash didn’t usually leave strangulation marks,” Olivia said in a low voice.

“And that’s the other thing. We couldn’t run a clock exam on her.”

Olivia stared at her. “Why not?”

The doctor’s expression flickered. “The amount of swelling and bruising to her groin and labia—”

“Bruising that could come from  _ consensual _ sex?” Olivia asked, incredulous.

“In my professional opinion, no. The amount of force required—” The doctor broke off, looking frustrated. “But they’ll say that she liked it rough, that she wanted to be choked and with the clock exam inconclusive, we’re right back to a he-said, she-said.”

Olivia could hear the defeat in the doctor’s voice and she took a deep breath before shaking her head slowly. “You and I have seen this too many times,” she said, and the doctor managed a weak smile.

“You said it, not me.” She jerked her head towards the curtain. “She’s ready for you.”

Olivia nodded and slowly slid the curtain open before stepping inside. “Francine?” she asked quietly, and the girl turned her head to look at her. Despite everything she had ever seen, despite everything she herself had been through, Olivia still had to bite back a gasp at the bruising that covered her face. “My name is Olivia Benson. Is it alright if I ask you a few questions?”

“You a cop?” Francine asked, her voice hoarse, and Olivia nodded as she sat down next to her hospital bed. “Can you take these cuffs off?”

She held up her hands, the cuffs still around her wrists rattling as she did. “I’m afraid not,” Olivia told her. “I’m not one of the cops from the precinct you were brought to earlier, so I don’t have the authority.”

Francine eyed her warily. “If you’re not one of them, what do you want?”

“I work with the Special Victims Unit,” Olivia said. “Specifically, I work with victims of sex crimes.”

Francine’s face crumpled, and it took Olivia a moment to recognize the look on her face: relief. “So you believe me, then?” Francince asked, her voice small and scared. “You believe what he did to me?”

“I do,” Olivia said firmly, and without hesitation. “But I need you to tell me exactly what happened. If you can.”

Francine reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, staring away from Olivia. “I was, um, out with some friends,” she mumbled, so quietly that Olivia could barely hear her. “Just having some drinks, dancing a little. Bunch of Wall Street type guys came up to us, y’know, wanted to buy us drinks, asked us to dance. This one guy, older than the rest, he told me he’d make it worth my while if I spent some time with him but I told him no, I don’t do that kinda thing no more.” Her voice dropped. “Guess he didn’t like being told no. Next thing I remember, I was on a bed and he was — he was on top of me, and—”

She broke off and Olivia reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s ok,” she told her softly. “I know how hard this is. Take your time. You’re being incredibly brave.”

Francine jerked a nod. “It was like I couldn’t move,” she said. “He was in me and on me and choking me and smacking me and I couldn’t do anything, I-I couldn’t stop him, I had to just lay there and let him—” Again she broke off, crying freely, and Olivia grabbed her a Kleenex from the bed tray. “Then, when he was done, he rolled off of me and it’s like I snapped. I grabbed the lamp and I hit him on the hit with it and I, I just ran. I had to get out of there. I thought he was gonna kill me.”

“You got yourself out of there,” Olivia reassured her. “You did what you had to do.”

“So I ran through his place and got to the elevator - it went straight down to the garage, and there was only one car in there, so I took it.”

Olivia nodded slowly. “So you took his car,” she said. “Were the keys in the car?”

Francine shrugged. “I don’t remember,” she said.

“I know it’s hard, but this is an important point. Do you remember taking the keys from the house and going to the car, or were the keys already in the car?” 

Francine glared at her. “Why does that matter?”

“It matters because if the keys weren’t in the car, how did you know where to find them?” Francine stared blankly at her and Olivia sighed. “Francine, I believe you, but I need to be honest with you. The man who did this to you is telling a very different story, and there’s a lot of people who aren’t going to believe you. Not without proof.”

For a moment, it almost looked like Francine might laugh. “Proof?” she asked instead, her voice shrill. “What more proof do they need?”

She gestured at her face, tears again coursing down her cheeks, and Olivia sighed. “I know,” she said heavily. “That should be the only proof anyone needs.” She hesitated before standing, patting Francine’s hand gently. “Just — give it some thought, ok? See if you can remember. I have to go back to the precinct, but I’m going to leave my detective here in case you need anything.”

Francine shrank back. “Another cop?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yeah, Det. Carisi. He’s one of the good ones, I promise.”

Though Francine nodded, she still looked hesitant. “Was he the one that was yelling?”

Olivia blinked. “Yelling?”

“Yeah, before you got me out of there, there was some cop yelling a lot and putting up a big stink. Something about them violating my – my Fourth Amendment rights, maybe?”

A small, tired smile crossed Olivia’s face. “That certainly sounds like something Carisi would do,” she said, more to herself than to Francine. “So see? He’s already on your side.”

Francine managed a small smile as well. “And so are you.”

Olivia’s smile faded. “Without a doubt in the world.”

* * *

“Is he in?”

Olivia’s tone was clipped and distinctly unamused, and Carmen looked up from her desk, eyeing Olivia and Carisi warily. “He is, but he’s heading out shortly, and he told me not to disturb—”

Olivia ignored her, pushing the door to the office open and all but storming inside, Carisi on her heels. The new ADA, Michael Foster, glanced up from where he was sitting behind his desk, scrolling through his phone, and his irritation at being disturbed was replaced by a particularly oily smile as he realized who she was. “Ah, Olivia Benson,” he said smoothly, standing and offering her his hand. “I was wondering when you’d be stopping by. And you must be—”

“That’s Lt. Benson to you, Mr. Foster,” Olivia said sharply, cutting him off from introducing himself to Carisi, and making no move to shake his hand.

Foster’s hand fell to his side and his smile looked momentarily strained. “And here I was hoping we’d have at least as cordial a relationship as you had with some of my predecessors. I’ll try not to take it personally, especially since this is a temporary assignment.”

He said it casually enough but Carisi frowned, exchanging a glance with Olivia. “You’re not planning on staying as ADA?” he asked.

“No, I’m in line to be assistant US Attorney for the Southern District of New York.”

Foster delivered that announcement smugly, and Olivia stared flatly at him, unimpressed. “That’s quite a promotion,” she said, in a way she hoped conveyed that she was entirely unconvinced that he deserved it.

Judging by the look on his face, he had received the message loud and clear. “Well, it’s certainly better than the crap we deal with her at the sex crimes bureau,” he said brusquely. “But let’s not get distracted, since it certainly looks like you came here to tell me something.”

He sat back down at his desk and gestured for them both to take a seat across from him, but neither Olivia nor Carisi moved to sit down. Instead, Olivia glared at him. “Actually, I came here to ask you something — namely, what the hell are you thinking, charging a rape victim with three different felonies for trying to flee form the man who brutalized her?”

Foster sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, don’t tell me you actually believe that story she cooked up,” he scoffed.

“I do. And more than that, I believe the evidence—”

“What evidence?” he challenged. “Physical exam was inconclusive, no drugs were found in her system, the vast majority of her injuries can be explained by the car crash and rough sex.” He leaned forward. “Fact of the matter is, Lieutenant, I can’t make a case for rape. But I sure as hell can make a pretty convincing case for a prostitute stealing a car and then crashing it. So convincing that I’m pretty sure her lawyer will take a deal and put this entire thing behind us.”

Olivia gaped at him, actually speechless for a moment. “I realize you don’t exactly care about your position here, but don’t you care at all about justice?”

Foster shrugged. “I care about winning.”

“And, uh, does this have anything to do with the fact that your pops plays a round of golf once a month with Mr. Tabois?” Carisi asked mildly, and Foster’s head snapped up as he turned his glare on him. “I asked around.”

Foster’s smile turned flinty and he took a moment to look Carisi up and down before answering with something like a sneer. “I see we’re also not going to have the same working relationship with Stone or Barba,” he said, before adding snidely, “Not that I’d be interested in what you’re rumored to have gotten up to with Barba. Rafael may enjoy slumming, but you’re not my type.”

Carisi took a step forward, his eyes flashing, but Olivia grabbed his arm, holding him in place. “So you’re not going to reconsider charging her?”

Foster stood, smoothing his tie before grabbing his briefcase, clearly considering the conversation over. “No,” he told Olivia, walking toward the door as if expecting them to follow, “but I’ll let whatever public defender she gets make a case for pleading down one of the felonies. She may only spend ten years in jail.” He glanced over Olivia’s shoulder at Carmen. “Hold all my calls. I’ve got a tee time waiting for me.”

Without another word, he left, whistling to himself as he strode toward the elevator, clearly without a care in the world. “So that’s it,” Olivia said hollowly, staring after him. “A woman who has gone through hell is treated as the perp and her rapist is treated like a victim. White male privilege at work.”

“As a white male, I couldn’t agree more,” Carisi said, his voice low. “It’s disgusting.”

Olivia shook her head and sighed. “And what’s worse is, there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it.”

Carisi glanced over at Carmen, his brow furrowed. “Maybe there is something,” he said slowly.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have in mind?”

Carisi looked back at her and forced a smile. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m just thinking it’s time I called an old friend.”


	2. Chapter 2

“State on bail?”

Judge Wright sounded slightly irritated at the proceedings thus far, which could bode poorly for either side. Whenever she was irritated in an arraignment, she tended to be more strict in her rulings.

It just depended which side she decided to take it out on.

“Your Honor, the State requests remand,” Foster said, his voice particularly oily, as if he had heard the irritation in Wright’s voice and was trying to do what he could to mitigate it. “The defendant clearly isn’t above using illegal means to flee the law, and—”

The door to the courtroom opened and an impeccably-dressed man in a charcoal suit strode to the front, ignoring the bailiff's swift move to intercept him. “Mr. Barba,” Wright said, sounding almost amused, “I didn’t expect to see you in my courtroom today.”

“My apologies for interrupting, Your Honor,” Rafael Barba said to Wright, “but there’s been a change in the defendant’s counsel and it took a bit to square it away with the Public Defender’s office.”

“Oh, really?” Wright asked.

Barba smiled slightly. “Yes, Your Honor,” he said, setting his briefcase on the defense table. “I’ll be taking over as Miss Waters’s attorney from here on out.”

Foster’s face had gone a nasty shade of puce, and he gaped at Barba before looking back at Wright and squawking, “Your Honor, Mr. Barba is an ADA!”

“Former ADA,” Barba corrected smoothly. “I’ve gone into private practice. And nowhere is there a rule that precludes me, as a former ADA, from representing Miss Waters in this courtroom.”

Foster looked downright murderous but Wright just shrugged. “Well, I see no reason not to allow it, provided Miss Waters agrees to the change in counsel.”

Before Barba could even say anything, the public defender previously provided for Francine said, “Oh, she agrees.” She quickly grabbed her own briefcase and shook Barba’s hand, telling him in an undertone, “Good luck.”

Barba allowed himself a brief smile before turning back to Judge Wright, who still looked somewhat amused. “Now, where were we?”

Foster glowered at Barba. “The State was requesting remand—” he started, but Barba cut him off smoothly.

“And the Defense is going to request a dismissal of all charges. In the meantime, we’ll be happy to settle for ROR.”

From where he was sitting at the back of the courtroom, Carisi grinned.

Barba was back.

* * *

Several hours later, Barba emerged back into the courtroom from the judge’s chambers and instantly reached up to loosen his tie. He brightened when he saw Carisi perched on the defense table, clearly waiting for him. “Detective. Fancy seeing you here.”

Carisi stood, grinning at him. “I could say the same thing,” he said, just lightly enough to show he was teasing. “Welcome back, Counselor.”

Barba smiled slightly even as he shook his head. “I’m not back,” he said. “Just doing this as a favor for a friend.”

Carisi glanced sideways at him as they made their way out of the courtroom. “I dunno, I always thought victim advocacy suited you,” he told him. “Speaking as a friend, at least.”

Again Barba shook his head, and the look he gave Carisi was equal parts fond and exasperated. “Well, don’t get too far ahead of yourself. We’ve got a long way to go before this case is put to bed, and I’m afraid our pre-trial conference with the judge didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Carisi’s smile faded. “What happened?”

Barba sighed. “Judge isn’t allowing testimony about the alleged rape.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Carisi demanded.

“Language, Detective,” Barba chided with a tired sigh. “I don’t swear in your church, so don’t swear in mine.”

Carisi just rolled his eyes. “Fine, are you freaking kidding me?”

“Unfortunately, no, but don’t worry, I have a plan.”

Carisi half-smiled. “I sorta hoped you would.”

Barba managed a small smile as well before offering, “Join me at my office to discuss it? For old time’s sake?”

Carisi’s smile widened. “That’d be a lot easier to take you up on if your office was still at One Hogan Place,” he pointed out evenly.

Barba just shrugged. “Yes, but since I’m working out of Rita Calhoun’s office for the moment, my new office comes with a cappuccino machine.”

“Well, Christ, you don’t have to twist my arm.”

Barba laughed and together they headed outside. They were almost to the curb to the Uber Barba had already called when he said, a little too off-handedly to be casual, “Thanks for calling me, by the way.”

Carisi opened the car door and held it open for Barba. “What can I say,” he said. “There’s no one I trust more.” As if realizing what he said, a flush spread across his cheeks and he quickly added, “To get justice for Francine, I mean.”

The small smile on Barba’s face was entirely unreadable as he slid to the far side of the backseat so that Carisi could sit down. “Well,” he said. “Same goes for you.”

* * *

“And Mr. Tabois, do you remember anything else from that night, from the time the defendant hit you on the head with a lamp to the time the police showed up at your door?”

It was the last in what had been a long, but routine, line of questioning by Foster, and Carisi slowly straightened from where he had been hunched in the back of the courtroom, less from caring about Tabois’s answer and more from anticipation at what was coming next.

“No,” Tabois said firmly. “I have no memory until the cops showed up.”

“Thank you,” Foster told him, something like triumph in his voice, and Carisi internally rolled his eyes. Clearly the man thought he’d hit a homerun. But Carisi was pretty sure that Barba would be more than happy to prove him otherwise.

Barba stood, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit jacket. “Mr. Tabois,” he said, without glancing up from his notes, “I want to go back to the middle of your evening, when you were leaving the club where you met the defendant. Did my client make any comment about your car?”

Tabois blinked. Clearly, whatever question he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. “My car?” he repeated, confused.

“Yes, you drive a Maserati, correct? The car that the defendant allegedly stole?” Tabois nodded and Barba continued, “You’re probably used to women making comments about it. Did the defendant?”

Tabois shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”

“And did you find that unusual?”

Tabois’s eyes flickered over to Foster and back to Barba. “Look, what does this got to do—”

“Answer the question, Mr. Foster,” Judge Wright ordered, but Barba held up a hand.

“I’ll rephrase,” he offered, and Wright gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “Earlier in your testimony, you stated that when at the club, the defendant was clearly into you because of your money. Correct?”

Tabois nodded, looking slightly relieved. “Right, yeah, she kept running her mouth about how she needed a sugar daddy.”

“And naturally, you would’ve wanted to show off your car for her,” Barba prodded, and again Tabois nodded.

“Of course. It’s a nice car.”

Barba nodded as well. “But you don’t recall her saying anything about it?” he asked again, and Tabois’s brow furrowed. “Was she not impressed? Was it – smaller than she expected?”

Though Barba’s tone was innocent, Tabois instantly flushed a mottled shade of red. “Look, the bitch was too drunk to even realize what kind of car it was, ok, let alone how big it was.”

“So she was too drunk to notice what kind of car you were driving, but not too drunk to realize that you were wealthy enough that she should allegedly try to rob you.”

Barba’s tone was dry and Carisi was unsurprised when Foster immediately snapped, “Objection. Is there a question there?”

Wright arched an eyebrow at Barba, who didn’t look concerned. “Withdrawn.” 

He strolled casually toward the jury box, a well-practiced move that Carisi recognized, a sign that he was about to drop something the jury should pay extra attention to. “So Miss Waters was too drunk to notice the make or model of your car. What about you, Mr. Tabois? Were you also drunk?”

Tabois shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I mean, I’d had a few, but I could still, y’know, drive.” He tried to smile, though it looked more like a sneer. “It takes a lot to knock me on my ass.”

Barba nodded. “A lot like, say, twelve bottles of champagne?” Tabois froze and Barba moved back toward the defense table, picking up a file folder. “Defense exhibit 2A, Your Honor — Mr. Tabois’s bar tab from the club that night, including several rounds of shots and twelve bottles of Moët & Chandon.”

He handed a copy to the judge and a copy to Foster, who was scowling, and Tabois sat forward, glaring at Barba. “Look, me and some guys from the office were out, we were celebrating, we were sharing with everyone. Is that a crime?”

“So you yourself did not drink much of the alcohol you purchased?” Barba asked mildly.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Which is why you were driving.”

Barba didn’t state it like a question and Tabois’s glare deepened. “Yeah, like I said.”

“Then why, if you were driving, is there an Uber Black charge on your account for a ride from that club to your penthouse on the night in question?”

Foster practically jumped to his feet. “Objection!” he barked.

Wright just gave him a look. “On what grounds, Counselor?” she asked, and when Foster just stared at her, she told him coolly, “Overruled.”

Barba picked up a second file folder. “Defense exhibit 2B, Your Honor, the Uber receipt in question.” He turned back to Tabois, all trace of geniality gone from his expression. “So you were drinking, and you weren’t driving — how then, would the defendant have known about the sports car she never saw, the one you claim she spent the entire evening conspiring to steal?”

Tabois’s mouth opened and closed like a fish for a moment before he spluttered, “I, uh, I must’ve told her about it.”

Barba didn’t look convinced. Nor, Carisi was happy to see, did a few of the jury members. “So you told a girl you’ve described as ‘too drunk’ to recognize it about your car, and she decided to take you at word about it, sight unseen, and go home with you to steal said car?”

“Look—”

Barba didn’t let him speak. “I mean, that takes a certain amount of trust, doesn’t it?”

“She clearly wanted—”

“Or else it takes someone going home with you without the intention of stealing from you.”

Tabois shook his head. “Even if the bitch didn’t intend to steal from me, she still did!” he spat. “So she got lucky. Hell, if she hadn’t been such a frigid bitch at the club, I might’ve given her a car for free, but she had to act so stuck up, she wouldn’t even let me kiss her, and that’s after I gave her a bunch of drinks—”

He broke off, clearly realizing he’d said too much, and Barba looked at him evenly. “And that’s what this is about, isn’t it. You gave her drinks, and so you were owed. And when she didn’t want to repay you, you forced her to come home with you in an Uber, and whatever happened there, whatever you did, the only means of escape she had was taking your car.”

“Objection!” Foster shouted, but the damage had already been done, murmurs breaking out throughout the courtroom.

Wright banged her gavel and Barba glanced up at her. “Withdrawn.” he said.

“Counsel, approach the bench,” Wright ordered, and both Barba and Foster made their way to her bench, Foster stalking toward it, Barba at a much more leisurely pace.

“Mr. Barba was out of line,” Foster practically snarled. “The attacked was ruled inadmissible—”

“And I didn’t say anything about the attack,” Barba said mildly. “That being said, Mr. Tabois’s story isn’t exactly holding a lot of water here on its own, even without the attack.”

Foster looked like he was about ready to take a swing at him, but Wright forestalled it by saying sharply, “I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Barba.” Foster whipped around to gape up at her. “I’ll give you two until tomorrow to work something out, or else I’m going to strongly consider dismissing these charges — and perhaps even taking Mr. Tabois into custody.”

She raised her voice to tell the courtroom, “Court will stand in recess until 9 o’clock tomorrow morning,” and banged her gavel once more.

Foster stepped in front of Barba, his face red. “I hope you’re happy with yourself,” he hissed.

“I assure you, Counselor, I am.” Foster spluttered incoherently but Barba ignored him, stepping around him and searching in the crowd until he locked eyes with Carisi. Once he did, he winked, and Carisi let out a breath of relief.

It looked like Francine might just get some kind of justice after all.

* * *

“Good job in there,” Carisi told Barba when he finally emerged from the courtroom, briefcase in hand.

Barba managed a slightly tired smile. “I’ll admit, it doesn’t quite have the same feeling as seeing an asshole like that put away for 25 to life, but it’s not a bad feeling all the same.” He glanced up at Carisi as they fell in step next to each other, making their way outside. “Still, I thought you hated defense attorneys.”

“Only when their clients are guilty,” Carisi said with a chuckle.

Barba laughed as well, shaking his head slightly. “You never cease to amaze me,” he said mildly. “Your pursuit of justice above all, even when it means going against your own ADA…”

Carisi shrugged. “Technically, I didn’t go against him,” he pointed out. “I just made a phone call. You did the rest.” Barba rolled his eyes and Carisi nudged him companionably. “Besides, what can I say? I learned from the best.”

Again Barba shook his head, though he also paused, turning to look up at Carisi. For a moment, it looked like he might say something, something serious, judging by his expression, but then his face evened out and he managed a slightly wider smile than before. “Well, after a compliment like that, the least I can do is offer to buy you a drink. Forlini’s?”

“For old time’s sake?” Carisi supplied, grinning. “Sure.”

But before they even made it outside of the courthouse, Barba’s phone buzzed. “Would you look at that,” he said, glancing down at it. “Foster wants to make a deal.”

Carisi nodded. “Good,” he said, before adding, “You should go. Drinks can wait.”

But Barba hesitated, something unreasonable in his expression as he cocked his head, looking up at Carisi. “What would you charge her with?”

Carisi’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you were ADA, and you knew you had to make a deal to charge her with something because the higher ups demanded some kind of charge so that the office can save face, what would you charge her with?”

Barba was looking at him expectantly but Carisi took a moment to think about it. “Criminal mischief for hitting the street light,” he said finally, “and failure to reduce speed to avoid an accident.”

A smile lifted the corners of Barba’s mouth. “So a misdemeanor and a traffic citation. Interesting choice, Detective.”

Carisi smirked. “Like I said, I learned from the best.”

“And what sentence would you seek for her?”

This time, Carisi didn’t have to think about it. “Time served.”

Barba raised an eyebrow. “She was never in lock up, though.”

“She spent eight hours in holding when she should’ve been in a hospital,” Carisi said, a little grimly. “I’d say that counts as time served. She paid her debt to society and then some.”

Barba’s smile widened. “Good boy.” He looked down at his phone and sighed. “It should be you, you know.”

“Should be me what?”

“You should be the ADA.”

Carisi barked a surprised laugh. “Yeah, ok, Counselor,” he scoffed.

“No, I mean it,” Barba said firmly. “You have everything it takes to be a great ADA: the right mindset, you don’t owe anyone any political favors, and you don’t have a reputation to worry about.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not,” Carisi said mildly.

Barba half-smiled. “From me, consider it a compliment,” he said. “Besides, you care about the only thing that should ever matter in this job: justice for those that deserve it.”

Carisi ducked his head and nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, after a long moment, “maybe one day.”

“Give it some thought,” Barba told him, slowly backing away from him. “And in the meantime, I should really go see Foster, work out this deal.”

“Sure,” Carisi said. Barba raised his hand in a sort of wave before turning to walk away, and Carisi watched him go before calling after him, “Rain check on that drink, though?”

Barba turned around, smiling slightly. “Sure,” he said. “One day.”

Carisi rolled his eyes and Barba laughed, turning away again. Carisi shook his head. “Me, ADA,” he scoffed out loud to no one, but his chest seemed inexplicably tight at the thought.

Almost of their own volition, his feet wandered away from the courthouse exit, making their way instead to the now empty courtroom, and Carisi stepped inside, staring at the empty rows of seats, at the judge’s bench, the jury box, the two polished tables at the front of the room.

He exhaled deeply and shoved his hands in his pockets, unable to stop the smile that stole across his face.

“One day,” he repeated softly. “One day.”


End file.
